"Them top notes sonpd like a saw hittin' a knot."
"Fly away, birdie!"
"Aw, git off—git off!"
Occasionally a protesting voice cried:
"Let the kid alone!"
Nan glanced at Ben Evans. Was he too joining in the baiting of this panic-stricken child! Scarcely. There was a frown of disapproval upon his face, a gathering storm in his blue eyes. Nan nearly forgave him for his rustic pleasure in the monologue.
The rowdies concluded that more amusement could be extracted from that recognized form of recreation known as "breaking up a show" than from allowing it to proceed. The uproar became one long howl of derision, while the child stood with her face buried in the bend of her elbow—the defenseless target of the storm.
The gaunt humorist strode out with a brave semblance of authority and lifted a long, wax-like hand over the audience for silence. His face showed ghastly beneath its make-up, and he looked a grotesque corpse as he stood trying to make himself heard above the din.
